THE FALSE MESSAGE.
Roland Packard was exultant as he hastily left Vanderbilt. Safe in his
pocket was the precious message.
“I have it! I have it!” he laughed, as he hastened away. “Oh, that was
a piece of luck! Let Oll fight it out with them. He’ll get off somehow,
and they never can prove I did it.”
He seemed utterly regardless of the shame and humiliation he had cast
upon his brother by his rascally act. Having sunk lower and lower,
Roland’s conscience no longer gave him much trouble, no matter what he
did.
“Five hundred dollars!” he muttered. “All mine! That will clear me of
every debt.”
He was hastening to find Anton Mescal, when, of a sudden, he stopped.
“If that man is willing to pay five hundred dollars for this message
the old envelope must contain something of great importance.”
That set him to thinking, and soon he softly exclaimed:
“I’d like to know what is in that envelope! It might be worth much
more than five hundred dollars to me.”
He was on Chapel Street, opposite the green. Glancing around to make
sure he was not watched, he took the envelope from his pocket and
examined it.
“Sealed!” he muttered, in disappointment. “Too bad! But for that, I
might----”
He grew silent, examining the seal.
“This is luck!” he finally laughed. “The seal was struck with a ring
made to represent the symbol of one of the old freshman societies. The
man who struck that seal may have received the ring from Merriwell
himself. I know where to find another ring exactly like that.”
Packard thrust the envelope into his pocket and hastened straight to
a jeweler’s shop, where he soon purchased a ring which he knew would
strike a seal exactly like the one on the envelope.
From the jeweler’s store he went to a stationer’s, where he purchased a
stick of sealing-wax like the wax used on the oilskin envelope.
Then came the hardest thing to obtain, an envelope like the one in his
pocket; but, after much search, Packard secured just what he wanted.
“Now, I am going to know what the message is!” he exulted.
At first he started for his own room, but he did not go far.
“Oliver may be there,” he thought, “or he may come before the job is
done. I must not go there.”
In a moment he thought of a place, and then he proceeded straight to a
little club-room, where some of the reckless Yale men often gathered to
play cards.
The club-room was deserted now, as everybody seemed out to take part
in the gay time that night. Roland knew there was little danger that
he would be disturbed, for it was not probable that any Yale man would
care to play cards on such a night.
The place had been lighted by ordinary kerosene-lamps, and Roland had
one of these burning in short order. Then he set to work to open the
envelope. At first his hands trembled, which caused him to stop and
wait for his nerves to become steadier. He took a silver flask from his
pocket, unscrewed the cap, and drank from it.
“There!” he said; “that will fix me.”
Slowly and cautiously he worked with his knife, removing the seal from
the envelope. When this was done he found some trouble in opening the
flap without leaving a trace, but the task was accomplished at last.
“Now!” he exclaimed, his face flushed and his eyes gleaming, “we’ll
see what this great message is all about!”
From the envelope he took several sheets of parchmentlike paper, which
were covered with writing. Then, by the light of the lamp, he settled
himself to read the message that had never been intended for other eyes
than those of Frank Merriwell.
As Packard read he showed signs of surprise. At first he whistled
softly, then he uttered an exclamation, and at last he exclaimed aloud:
“Well, by Jove! this is interesting!”
When he had finished reading, he started up, exclaiming:
“Frank Merriwell’s fate is in my hands! Almighty goodness! What a
ten-strike! With the aid of this I can turn him out into the world a
pauper! Roland Packard, this is the greatest piece of work you ever
did. Five hundred dollars! Why, this is worth five million dollars!”
He was wildly excited, and could hardly repress wild shouts of joy.
Indeed, he executed a savage dance of exultation.
“At last!” he panted. “Now I am able to obtain revenge for every injury
Merriwell has done me! Oh, but my revenge will be a sweet one!”
The rascal was so excited and interested that he again read the
wonderful message from beginning to end.
“Now,” he said, “to fool Mescal first. He must pay me the five hundred,
for I need it.”
There was some writing-paper on a table near. He took several sheets,
folded them, and thrust them into the envelope from which the message
had been removed. Then he stuck down the flap with care and brought out
his sealing-wax and the ring he had purchased.
Removing the chimney from the lamp, he heated the wax in the flame and
dropped it on exactly the spot where the original seal had been. At the
proper time he pressed the ring on the wax, and an exact reproduction
of the first seal was made.
Packard surveyed his work with pride, examining it closely to see if a
casual observer could detect that the envelope had been tampered with.
“It’s all right,” he decided. “I’ll defy anybody to tell that it has
been opened. Oh, I’m a clever devil! Mr. Merriwell is in the midst of
his glory now, but he shall go out from Yale a beggar! If he only knew!
Some time he shall know. When it is too late, I’ll tell him all, and
that shall be my triumph.”
Then he set about fixing the other envelope, into which he placed the
message, sticking down the flap and putting on the seal.
“All that is necessary is to soil it a little,” he said. “Then it will
be exactly like the original. No--by George, no!”
He had turned the original envelope and seen the writing upon it.
“Well,” muttered the fellow, after a few moments. “I’m rather clever at
imitating handwriting, so I’ll see what I can do in this case.”
Finding pen and ink, he set about the task. At first he imitated on a
sheet of paper the writing on the original envelope. The first trial
was not perfectly satisfactory, so he made another attempt.
“There,” he said, as he examined it, “if I can do as well as that on
the envelope it will be a first-class job.”
Without delay he set at work on the envelope, and the result was
greatly to his liking.
“It’s all right,” he decided, as he blotted it. “I believe it would
fool Merriwell himself.”
He destroyed the sheet on which he had been practising, and then placed
the envelope containing the message in his pocket, where it would be
safe.
“Now to get the five hundred!” he laughed, as he picked up the other
envelope. “Hamlet’s ghost! but won’t Mr. Anton Mescal be hot under the
collar when he opens this and finds nothing but blank paper in it!”
There was a slight sound at the door. A key turned in the lock, and
Packard leaped to his feet, turning in time to see the door swing open.
Quick as a flash, he thrust the envelope into his pocket.
Oliver Packard stepped into the room.
“You?” exclaimed Roland.
“Yes!” said Oliver.
He stepped in, closed the door, and locked it.
“Why the devil are you here?” snarled Roland.
“To find you,” said Oliver quietly.
“What do you want of me?”
“I want that message.”
“What message?”
“The one you snatched from Merriwell.”
“What ails you? Are you nutty?”
“Hand it over!” commanded Oliver.
“You go die!” sneered Roland. “You’re silly.”
“I am here to take it, and I shall,” declared Oliver.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What did you put in your pocket just as I entered?”
“None of your business!”
“I know what it was.”
“Then if you know so much, why do you ask me?”
“It was the message.”
“What are you giving me about a message?”
“It’s no use to play innocent with me, Roll.”
Roland uttered a savage exclamation.
“You get out of here!” he cried, taking a step.
Oliver did not stir.
“I’ll go when you give me what I am after,” he said.
“I’ll give it to you--in the neck!”
“Roll,” said Oliver quietly, “you can’t bluff me. I know you snatched a
message from Frank Merriwell’s hand to-night, and you have it with you.
I was accused, but Merriwell believed me on my word of honor.”
“That’s more than he would me,” said Roland, with a harsh laugh.
“You have only yourself to blame if no one will believe your word of
honor,” said Oliver.
“Sermon, is it?” cried the other. “You’re always preaching nowadays,
Oll.”
“It’s no sermon now, for I have no time to waste.”
“I’m glad of it. Get out and let me alone.”
“I shall not go till I get what I came for. I will clear myself of
suspicion, and I will restore to Merriwell what rightfully belongs to
him.”
“You’ve tackled a big job.”
“I shall do it.”
“How?”
“Somehow--anyhow. You have disgraced me time and again, Roll, and I
have stood it for mother’s sake. She loves you more than she does me,
and----”
“Oh, cut it out! You’ve told me this before.”
“But for me you would have broken her heart already.”
“Good little Oliver! he was his mammy’s precious boy!” mocked Roll.
“Oh, you make me sick!”
“You know what I say is true. But for me you would have been expelled
in disgrace before this. I have saved you when Frank Merriwell was
ready to punish you for your wrong-doing. How have you repaid me!
To-day you have done something that has filled me with intense shame
and humiliation. Yet I do not believe you care a snap.”
“What’s the use?”
“Ingrate!” panted Oliver, aroused.
“Bah!” returned the other, snapping his fingers.
Oll advanced into the room, his eyes flashing.
“Before this I have shouldered the blame that you should have taken,”
he cried. “Your actions have caused me to be dropped by my best
friends, with the exception of Merriwell. Your actions caused me to
lose my chance of making the nine again this year. I have endured all
that I can. The limit is reached.”
“Now what?”
“I’m going to cut clear from you.”
“I’m glad of it!”
“But first I am going to restore that stolen message to Merriwell.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, go ahead.”
Roland was defiant.
“Give it to me!” panted Oliver, his hands clenched, while he trembled
in every limb. “I demand it!”
“Well, you’ll have to demand. You won’t get it.”
“You can’t get out without giving it to me, Roll,” asserted Oliver
grimly, as he now advanced upon his brother.
“What do you think you are going to do?” demanded the young rascal.
“Don’t make an idiot of yourself!”
Oliver clutched his brother by the collar.
“Give it up!” he commanded. “I’ll take it if I have to strip your
clothes off to do so.”
Roland laughed defiantly. Then he suddenly broke Oliver’s hold and
struck the hand of his brother aside.
A moment later Oliver flew at Roland with terrible fury, grasping him
by the throat.
Then began a desperate encounter between the brothers. Roland found
Oliver desperate and determined. For at least ten minutes they fought,
and at last Oliver had thrown his brother to the floor and pinned him
there. Then he thrust his hand into Roland’s pocket and drew out the
envelope that the youthful villain had prepared to deceive Anton Mescal.
“I have it!” exclaimed Oliver triumphantly.
“Well, keep it!” grated Roland, inwardly delighted over the fact that
the message was safe and Oliver was deceived. “Let me up! You ought to
be satisfied.”
Having put the letter in his pocket, Oliver quickly leaped to his feet
and backed away, saying:
“I am satisfied in getting the message, but I’d had it even though you
had forced me to kill you!”
“You’re a nice one!” snapped Roland, sitting up. “You’re a fine brother
to have!”
“I can return the compliment with interest. But never again will
I shoulder any of your wrong-doing, Roland. If you get into a bad
scrape in the future through your actions, you must not look to me for
assistance.”
“Oh, I won’t! Don’t worry about that. After to-night we are no longer
brothers! You are my enemy!”
“I have been your best friend. You have made your choice by your
conduct.”
Oliver had retreated to the door, still watching Roland, who now
laughed and said:
“Get out if you want to; I sha’n’t try to stop you. I’ll not fight
again over that old message. I don’t believe it amounts to anything,
anyhow.”
Oliver unlocked the door cautiously, for he did not trust Roland, even
then.
“I shall tell Merriwell the truth,” he said, “and I shall not ask him
to let you off without punishment, as I have in the past. He may punish
you or not, as he chooses. If he does not, it will be because he is the
soul of generosity.”
Then he opened the door and disappeared quickly, closing it behind him.
Roland Packard laughed in noiseless triumph.
“Go it, you fool!” he whispered. “I have the message, and you have
nothing but an envelope containing a lot of blank paper. I’d like to
see Merriwell’s face when he opens that envelope!”